


Solid Day's Work, A

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-08
Updated: 2009-02-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Toby is having problems.





	Solid Day's Work, A

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Really short. My first foray into anything TWW related -- it was a lot of fun!  


* * *

“God, Toby, why do you always have to follow me around arguing about everything!”

“I do not argue with you about everything—”

“Always finding the tiniest, most irrelevant, most obnoxious little thing that no one else in the world cares about but you—”

“A lot of people care about—”

“And pick, and pick, and _pick_ at it—”

“I just like to make my point—”

“Until I want to grab you by the throat and fling you bodily across my office—”

“That sounds pointedly unpleasant—”

“WHY do you do it?”

“I don't—”

“Why do you have to argue—”

“I don't argue—”

“With me—”

“I don't argue—”

“About everything!”

“Because I want to ask you to dinner!”

She missed a step. “What?”

“I argue with you about everything because I want to ask you to dinner, and to do that I have to talk to you, and the only way I know how to talk to people is by arguing with them, and I haven't quite figured out how to transition from the arguing to the asking, so that’s why I'm arguing.”

Her expression would have been comical, had he possessed even the slightest sense of mind to appreciate it. Instead he shrugged, out of things to say. “Because I want to ask you to dinner,” he repeated lamely. It was his point, after all.

She took one of those deep, shuddering breaths that let the world know she was allowing all of the multitude of thoughts to fall into place in her mind. She let out the breath.

“So, ask me to dinner,” she said, so matter-of-factly, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“But—” He had to explain.

“But what?”

He didn’t exactly WANT to explain, but he was in too deep now. “But what if you don't want to?”

There was barely even a pause before her answer. “Then I would say no.”

A rare silence followed which neither of them quite knew how to fill. Then he realized something.

“You haven't said no.”

“No, I haven't.”

Another pause. He was so bad at this! Now that he had gotten this far, how was he supposed to proceed?

“So...” he prompted. Guide me through this, please. Just guide me on through.

“So, I'm waiting,” she replied.

Waiting for what? He thought. Thanks for the help — that was one hell of a lifeline!

And then the answer came. Of course.

He cleared his throat.

“C.J., would you like to go to dinner with me?”

She smiled. Lord be praised, she smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “I would like to go to dinner with you, Toby, very much.” Her smile widened. “If only to teach you how to talk to girls properly without biting their heads off.”

He gave a nervous sort of half-grunt, half-laugh. Some might even call it a snort. He didn’t really care what people called it, because suddenly she was rounding the desk and approaching him with that playful, sexy, I'm-C.J.-and-I'm-the-best-damn-press-secretary-in-the-whole-damn-world swagger, and he felt his chest give a loud, almost colossal thud.

“Now, get out of my office.” Her voice was rich with amusement. “I have work to do, and you distract me.”

She ushered him towards the door and, for some reason, he went without fuss.

Was that it?

But just before he could leave, she said, “Hang on.” Then she grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and promptly kissed him right on the mouth. Deeply. For several seconds.

Once she had pulled away (why he hadn't seized her and thrown her down on that couch of hers right then and there, he'd never know), he gave her a questioning look, dark eyebrows raised.

“Just seeing something,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied.

She kissed him again before shoving him fully through the doorway.

“Now go away and let me do my job.”

The door closed.

He stood there for a second or two.

Then he grunted.

“Yeah. Like I'll be able to concentrate now.”

Regardless. He went back to work. But there was notably less grump in his gait, and notably less fervor to his frown.

He had asked her to dinner.

And she had said yes.

A solid day’s work, if he ever saw one.


End file.
